


Rock the Boat

by fragilecreature



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canonical Character Death, Hunter Dean, Kinda, M/M, Omega Dean, On hiatus but gonna finish, Pirates, Sailor Dean, Sea God Castiel, Slow Burn, Smut, also john winchester isn't an asshole, just a bad husband, on that note, there's plot but I know what you're here for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilecreature/pseuds/fragilecreature
Summary: Dean Winchester is in love... with the ocean. Life aboard the Black Legacy is the only life he wants, and he's given up everything to have it. But it all goes to hell when the infamous Yellow Eyes lays siege to their ship. In the wreckage of what was, everything changes and Dean flees to the sea with a secret no one can know.But of course it doesn't go according to plan, since it's his life. It puts him in the path of the famed and feared sea god, Castiel. Suddenly everything is changing again, but he's not sure if it's a good thing. Everyone is insisting it is, but he's not willing to give up the life he's always had.Turns out, sometimes to be happy, sometimes you have to rock the boat. Figuratively and literally.





	1. Tainted Water

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, this is my first abo fic (even though I've read plenty).  
> Also, I haven't quite settled into writing this because the timeline for this chapter is odd, since it's kinda backstory, as the story is set when Dean is in his twenties. So the writing will get better! Hope you stick with me through it.  
> Edit: I don't usually take this long to upload!! But rest assured, I really love this story and WILL follow through with it. I'm gonna be real, I'm going through a tough time mentally, which just means it doesn't always come out right when I try to write.

Dean Winchester was in love. Had been for years, ever since he had taken his first swaying step onto the deck of the _Black Legacy_ and looked out at the limitless horizon of the ocean. In that moment, he had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love. There would never be anything else for him.

So when his mother told his father to stay gone, to stay faithful to his true love, Dean knew he would follow him. Because no matter what Mary thought, Dean knew John had loved her and his family as much as he could love something on land. It would tear him apart to go alone. He would have gone, even if he wanted to stay. In the end, there was only one way the split would end: with Dean boarding that ship right by his father.

“Look at it, Dean,” Sam tried one last time, gesturing out at the water. It was the end of their last day together before he and John would leave. They had spent the afternoon together, wandering the city, doing what two emotionally stunted brothers did before Dean left for an indeterminate amount of time. Now they found themselves, inevitably, on the edge of the old dock down the hill from their home, watching the ocean slowly swallow the sun, pantlegs rolled up and feet trailing in the water.

“There’s too much,” he continued, eying the water distrustfully. “Too much that can go wrong, too much to get lost in.” But it lacked conviction, and his words rang hollow even to Dean, the one he was trying to convince. Dean glanced over at his little brother. Sam knew, he could tell. Knew that Dean wouldn’t stay, not for anything or anyone.

Besides, he had to. The Black Legacy and the mantle, the job, that came with it was a family business, passed on to the eldest alpha of the Winchester family. It didn’t matter that he was unpresented as the Winchester family split apart. He and John both knew he would be an alpha. At fourteen, he was nearing six feet tall without any sign of stopping, had an alpha’s knack for putting on muscle, and the short, challenging temper to boot. And regardless of what Sam presented as, he didn’t have the heart to be the captain of a ship. Would lose his mind overboard to all that water.

Dean looked back out at the water, gilded gold in the warm light, and tried to see what Sam saw. But even now, he only felt the pull, the urge to navigate the breeze that blew around them, to see what lay beyond that edge of what they could see. Something about it, some force, was too strong, had too much of a pull over him. And while he would visit, he could be honest, at least with himself. His heart wasn’t in the little port town of Lawrence, not since he had leaned over the edge of the Black Legacy, straining to be just a little farther, and subsequently threw his heart out to sea like a stone.

Dean knew Sam was only saying it one last time, one last ditch effort to make him stay. And one last time, Dean tried to explain it, to convince Sam that the world was not out to consume him. “Exactly, Sam. In a world that big, you’ll never be trapped. I see a familiar shore, I turn left,” he joked.

His usually bratty kid brother just kept looking out at the sea, too morose for a ten year old. “What about home, Dean?”

Dean swallowed uneasily. His brother knew him too well. But he made himself snort in amusement and ruffled Sam’s shaggy hair. “I’ll visit, bitch. I’ll always come back for my little shit brother.” But in the silence between them, they both heard the echo of words unsaid. _But never stay._

Sam just whined, leaning away and slapping at his hand. Conceding defeat. “Dean, come on, you’re such a jerk. You know I hate that.”

Dean smiled and playfully elbowed him. “Only with you, Sammy.”

Sam pushed him into the water, cackling.

 

The morning came too fast, and the Winchesters watched it rise together, one last time. Already, it was warm, and the wind blew strong out towards the beyond.

“The Sea God is welcoming you home, boys,” Mary said sadly.

An hour later, Dean watched his little brother wave on the shore as he got smaller and smaller. Mary stood still behind him, not waving. Though she had told Dean her son was always welcome home, he knew she would not wait for them to come home. Would not linger every time she passed a window, scanning the horizon. She had waited her life away, ready for the day John would remain after scanning the horizon for land. But he never did. She knew not to expect more from her son.

“I’m glad you stayed, Dean,” John said, squinting at the distant figure of his wife for what was probably the last time.

A mile out, surrounded by sailors, Dean could say it at last. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He wished he felt shame.

“That’s the price, I suppose. We can only love the ocean.”

 

As much as he found himself missing Sam, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision. Not when for the first time, he felt at peace. Looking at endless water, he felt _good,_ knowing he- _they-_ was making the ocean a safer place, little by little.

The crew of the _Black Legacy_ quickly became family, united by their cause: kill the monsters that plagued their home, that made shipping routes dangerous. It was their job, their calling. Sometimes they took bounties, occasionally guarded a ship for a member of the court, but usually they just sailed, criss crossing port to port. It paid well enough, they were technically employed by the king. That, and they were the best at their job. At sixteen, Dean hadn’t yet met something they couldn’t kill. But it was getting worse.

Dean looked at his reflection in the polished silver, trying to remember which scars had had gotten since he last visited Lawrence six months ago.

A flurry of thin scratches, now a faded white against the dark tan of his skin, marked his arms and ribs like lace, courtesy of a group of sirens that got handsy in the bad kind of way. A dark band of scar tissue underscored the _Black Legacy_ crest tattooed on his left pectoral, a souvenir from their run in with honest to gods human pirates. Usually they were lucky enough to just kill the supernatural.

Then there was the handprint.

The handprint was definitely new, the burn only a week old, marking where a sea demon had gotten a hold of him, attempting to pull him down under the water with scalding hands. He frowned, poking experimentally at the edge and hissing. Yep, it still hurt. He didn’t really know what he had expected, the skin was red and blistered, like his skin was boiling off. It had certainly felt like it.

They had seen more sea demons in the this year Dean had seen his first full year at sea, the number having risen almost exponentially between them. Even the crew agreed that the sudden rise was unprecedented. Sea demons were _supposed_ to be exceedingly rare, hardly ever making the journey to stir up trouble. They originated in underwater volcanoes and deep sea vents, and as such hardly offered trouble. Until now.

But it wasn’t just sea demons. More and more monsters were causing trouble, becoming more aggressive, traveling in larger groups. The pack of sirens that had almost drowned him had been almost twenty strong, fighting tooth and nail to wreck their ship.

But all in all, he considered it a decent enough run. They were still standing, after all. What more could hunters ask for?

“Company!” someone on the deck, a floor above his head, called. The cry was quickly taken up by the rest of the crew, the message quickly conveyed throughout the ship.

Dean started buttoning his shirt back up with nimble fingers. It was a generic call, meaning only that the scout had seen another ship in a path intersecting theirs. While it was probably nothing- they were only a day’s sailing from port now, it wasn’t unheard of- he would rather be ready than cataloguing his scars in the mirror like they mattered.

Fastening the last few buttons as he went, he headed up the stairs and onto the deck. And watched as the world slowly came to a halt.

One by one, the crew members fell still, transfixed by something aft them and to their port side. The bitter, almost vinegar scent of fear drenched the deck as Dean pushed his way to the railing beside his father.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. In the distance was the largest ship he had ever seen, and it was approaching fast at frankly unnatural speeds for the wind gusting around them. Even from here, he could sense it. It was the oily black sails, the way the breeze carried the tang of sulfur, the way the temperature rose just a little bit, even with the ship still so far out. “Sea demons.”

John’s eyes were dull when Dean turned to him in question. “They likely outnumber us, men and cannons, two to one. At best,” he said, voice flat and eyes fixed on the dark shape steadily nearing.

“Then we head for Lawrence like a bat out of hell and hope the enchantments on the sails are enough,” Dean responded fiercely. “We’ll have a better chance of the navy finding us and lending aid, the closer we get. And maybe if we’re really, stupidly lucky, they’ll get tired of chasing and give up after a while.”

John sighed. “You’re right.” But the smile he offered was sad. Hopeless. Fucking _resigned._

For the first time on a ship, Dean staggered as the world around him swayed unsteadily. “Dad?”

He just clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder- the good one, thankfully- and turned to the crew. “What are you waiting for? Get to your positions! We’re going to make them work for it!” he roared, enough aggression in his voice to send the men scrambling to do their duties.

But from his place at his side, Dean could smell vinegar. John didn’t think they would make it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Dad,” he hissed, careful to keep his voice pitched low. “Even if they do catch up, we’ve got a fighting chance. We’re a ship full of the best hunters in the business. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

The demand in his voice had the other alpha rising to the challenge. “I’m not giving up,” John hissed back, his voice at a lower, more dangerous timbre that made Dean wish he hadn’t opened his mouth. “But I’ve been running this ship for years. And let me tell you Dean, you have to be honest about two things to make it. Your loyalty and your death,” he growled, poking Dean in the chest. “Go down fighting, but make sure you’ve found your peace before you do. Otherwise you’ll get stuck here like all the other sorry sons of bitches trapped under the water, convinced you were wronged.” And he wasn't wrong. Ghosts, sirens, savage merfolk, those were some of the creatures they hunted, brought into existence by an unkind death. Pirates, merchants, navy men- it didn't matter who you were, after death. The only thing that mattered was the malicious conviction that bound them to the earth.

Dean put his hands up in surrender. “Fine,” he bit back, trying not to show how rattled he truly felt.

John just levelled him a long look before striding off to check on the crew.

 

They lasted sixteen hours. For sixteen hours, the crew ran themselves ragged, pushing the ship farther, faster. The emergency enchantment on the sails was starting to flicker blue like a ghost in the dark skies, the extra speed they provided close to petering out. And for sixteen hours, the sea demons pursued them, a relentless shadow at their back.

It wasn’t looking good for them, to say the least.

Dean looked over the crew again. Half of them were belowdecks now, trying to catch an hour or two of shuteye. The call would go up when, not if, it was time to fight. The current rotation on deck looked like they hadn’t managed a minute of decent sleep, faces haggard and reeking of vinegar-fear down to their bones.

He sighed and looked for probably the millionth time towards the sea demon ship. The yellow lamplight dripped off the oily sails like a festering wound. It looked closer, felt closer, but it might have been the fear that made it seem larger and amplified the smell of rotten eggs on the wind. He hoped so.

In the end, it didn’t really matter.

Above them, the sails sparked bright blue, lighting the deck for half a second in something like daylight. Then it was dark, the soft flickering glow of the enchantment gone.

Almost immediately, the ship started to slow. Without fail, the crew turned upwards to him where he stood next to the helm, the place of a captain. Scared faces looked to him, looking for some kind of help he couldn’t give, eyes wide and ringed with white.

Dean glanced back at the pursuing ship, which was now definitely getting closer. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. But that was all he allowed before turning back to the crew. He couldn’t save them, but he could damn well try. “Battle stations! Ready to fire!”

The frozen deck turned to a flurry of motion and noise, the call taken up and shouted to the people below. A moment later, John burst from the captain's quarters and scaled the stairs to join him.

“So this is it,” he growled.

“If worst comes to worst, yes,” Dean replied, vaguely annoyed. “Do you think they’ll try to board or just shoot us down?”

John cut him a sideways glance, but didn’t comment on his attitude. “Usually, I’d say they would shoot to kill, but these days… I think they’re here for thralls, soldiers if they can.”

“Great,” he grunted, rolling his eyes. “Because this ship didn’t have enough disease without them voodooing us into the help. Just awesome.”

That actually got a faint smile out of John. “At least it gives us a slightly better chance.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Dean said, and watched as the sea demon ship came within firing range of their cannons. But the night stayed relatively quiet, the cannons quiet. At least on the demon’s ship.

John glanced down at the deck below. The _Black Legacy_ ’s crew looked back, guns loaded and ready to fire. He gripped the helm and threw it into motion. “Steady!” he called as the ship started to turn portside, turning until the cannons stared down the enemy ship.

“Fire!” he bellowed, his voice echoed by the thunder of cannons. The sound of splintering wood sounded back through the night air, but the ship just kept coming without even slowing down. At this rate, they would only get one more round off before they were boarded. Hell, if they didn’t start slowing down soon, they were going to _collide._

“Reload!” John seemed to be thinking the same thing. Only a hundred yards out now, and closing fast. Dean drew his rapier and descended to the main deck. Someone had to be ready when they attempted to board, and the crew were busy frantically manning the guns.

“Fire!” The world again erupted into thunder, the acrid smell of gunpowder and smoke biting through his airways to the sound of splintering wood. Beside him, the nearest cannon rolled back from the recoil, only to be hauled back into place.

The ship was still coming, still on a path of collision despite the odd angle, oh _shit-_

There was the ungodly sound of wood scraping against wood, the sound quickly giving way to a noise like lightning crashing as the boards of the hull splintered under the onslaught.

Dean lurched back a step as the boat rocked violently, the enemy ship scraping along it as it slowly swung parallel to the _Black Legacy._ In the lantern lights, he could finally see the words _The Grigori_ in gold paint as the vessel ground to a stop.

His mouth dropped open in stunned realization. The bastards had used the _Black Legacy_ to slow down, causing as much damage as they could in the process and successfully handicapping any further movement.

He adjusted the grip on his rapier. Oh, they would pay. Screw dying, they had fucked with his ship.

His chance came quickly enough. Suddenly dozens of sea demons were spilling over the side, jumping the gap in places, oily black eyes twinkling in wicked delight.

Black, except for the demon whose eyes were trained, unwavering, on Dean. The waves of demons parted around him as he sauntered forward, eyes a sickly, burning yellow like light on tainted water.

 _Yellow Eyes._ He had heard the name uttered on the lips of monsters, sea demons, and dying hunters. This was the man- the _thing-_ responsible for so much suffering. Some kind of commander or tyrant, Dean didn’t care. It wouldn’t matter when he was dead on the deck.

The hunter growled low in his chest and raised the tip of his blade in the sea demon’s direction.

Yellow Eyes paused behind the dark stained railing of the _Grigori._ He couldn’t see much in the dim lamplight, but the railing looked sticky. “Aren’t you pretty,” the sea demon crooned lecherously and openly leering.

“Get over here so I can cut that slimy head off your shoulders,” he barked back.

The sea demon just laughed. “Oh, feisty. But that’s all right. I like ‘em feisty.” Dean went rigid as he felt the demon’s eyes blatantly sweep down his body. “And fresh.”

Dean felt his palms slick with anxiety, and was abruptly, somewhat ridiculously grateful that he had dropped the coin on a sharkskin grip instead of the standard leather. It was the only reason the rapier stayed firmly in his grip instead of sliding out like his knees wanted to. “Go to hell,” he spat like he wasn’t scared of this thing.

Anger. He had to remember his anger. This asshole was a menace, had killed hunters and sailors alike. Someone had to take him out. “You know what, I’ll do you one better and send you there myself,” he snarled, lunging forward and swiping for his throat with his rapier.

Yellow Eyes took an easy step back and out of reach. “Then come get me, puppy.”

Dean knew- he _knew-_ the bastard was baiting him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, couldn’t help it. He was right there, literally just out of reach.

If the _Black Legacy_ was going down, if Dean was dying tonight, he decided that at least he would take the yellow-eyed bastard with him. At least he would die at sea.

In a flash, he mounted and pushed off the railing of the _Black Legacy,_ intent on raining down steel on the sea demon. Yellow Eyes took another step back, unsheathing his own rapier just in time to counter Dean’s next blow in a shower of sparks. Even then, his eyes danced, egging the hunter wordlessly on.

Dean was furious enough to rise to the occasion, pushing him step after step backwards in a flurry of ringing metal as, each time, their blades collided.

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have noticed the way he was being led farther onto the enemy ship, maybe noticed the smugness in those yellow eyes. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. He was too busy trying to be angry enough to swallow his fear that he didn’t realize until it was too damn late.

Yellow Eyes was cornered, caught between the stairs leading up from the main deck and the wall of the captain’s quarters. Dean pulled his arm back, fully intending to gut the bastard like a fish-

Only for the blade to be yanked from his hand by some invisible force. It shot out of his grip and whipped through the space between them, and Dean watched it fly like an arrow to embed in one of his crewmates.

“Asa!” he yelped as the man keeled over. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do, only that he intended to do it as violently as possible as he rounded on Yellow Eyes. “You son of a-”

A hand snaked out between them and wrapped around the hunter’s throat. “Bitch?” Yellow Eyes finished with a smarmy smile. “Ironic.” With more strength than any mortal thing had, the sea demon hauled Dean into the wall facefirst. His nose crunched painfully as it slammed into the wood, the demoin crowding behind him and pressing up against him, grinding into his ass. “Especially since you’re my bitch now,” he said into his ear, breath hot and reeking of sulfur. “Not even destiny can save you now, bitch.”

“ _Dean!”_ They both froze, searching for the origin of the voice. For John. And as sure as the rising sun, there he was. Six foot two and every inch an alpha, he was the picture of death incarnate. His sword was drawn and bloodied in black sea demon blood, the boiling liquid steaming into the crisp night air as he marched across the deck on a warpath. Any demon that dared cross his path was swiftly and brutally cut down, the blood spatter burning into the exposed skin of John’s hands but earning no reaction. He looked fucking terrifying.

Yellow Eyes jumped backwards as John swung the blade with a roar that shook the glass in the wall behind Dean. Freed, he retreated back towards the railing. He felt impotent and useless, but he didn’t have a weapon. He could only watch as his father and Yellow Eyes went head to head.

“That all very dashing, sunny boy,” Yellow Eyes drawled, rapier rising to intercept John’s with a loud clang. “But your ship is going down around you. Captain.”

Indeed when Dean turned to look, things seemed to be going to hell. Demons swarmed the crew, who were putting up a valiant fight. But there was too many of them, and too few hunters. As Dean watched, a sea demon slammed Victor to the deck, pinning him by his neck and jaw. It opened its mouth unnaturally wide to let thick, black, viscous fluid that gave off black smoke drip down and into his mouth. He screamed and thrashed, trying to get away from the fluid that Dean had seen enough before to know was burning hot as it inevitably forced its way down his throat.

It was the sea demon’s way of making thralls, mindless humans slaves possessed by the will of its creator. Dean hoped for Victor’s sake that someone killed him, and killed him fast.

But John didn’t have the time or safety to look, and instead just returned Yellow Eyes’ smile. “I don’t know. That looks like the navy to me.” Both Dean and Yellow Eyes startled, scanning the horizon. Sure enough, there, to the north, was a lit ship, the large body and illuminated flags making it indeed identifiable as a navy vessel.

Dean was brought back to the moment at hand by a punched out groan. He spun, thinking Yellow Eyes had gotten the slip on John. But John had managed to stick Yellow Eyes while the sea demon was distracted, the end of his sword gleaming slippery red where it protruded from his back. “Gotcha.”

“Not yet you don’t, sonny,” Yellow Eyes snarled, lunging back with fury in his eyes, calm effectively shattered.

John sidestepped away, but the tail end of the sea demon’s slice caught him in the side. “To me!” Yellow Eyes ordered, voice raised to carry over to the _Black Legacy._

Immediately the demons began to pour back onto the ship, all focused singularly on the two hunters. “Oh, _hell,”_ John said eloquently.

Time seemed to slow, the pocket between moments allowing Dean the chance to turn to his father. “Dad?” he asked, voice small and afraid. _What are we going to do, Dad?_

John turned to him, expression unreadable. He held a hand to Dean’s cheek firmly get gently, with something almost like reverence. “I’m proud of you, Dean. I never told you that enough.” Then the time they had been given evaporated. The sound of war cries and the pounding of boots snapped back into place, along with their imminent death.

But before the horde of sea demons could reach them, John’s hand shifted to the back of Dean’s neck. Gripping him by the scruff, he half dragged, half tossed Dean overboard.

He had just enough time to register the blade sticking through his father’s chest before he hit the water with a painful slap.

Cold. It was so fucking _cold,_ colder as he sank- no, was _pulled-_ down deeper and deeper. Darker and darker the water became until he wasn’t sure if he was underwater at all or in some kind of void. He wondered idly if this was death.

But as it got darker, it got warmer, and his chest started to buzz in something like a pleased hum. He felt like he was going home, some sort of single place where the ocean welcomed him back in its arms. Like he was being pulled not under, but to safety, to a depth where he could be protected.

 _It’s not a bad way to go,_ he thought woozily, and proceeded to lose consciousness.


	2. Soul Meets Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really don't usually take this long to update! Depression's a bitch, but I really love this story and intend to finish it with all my heart.   
> I really wanted to write something I was proud to give you guys, so that's another reason it took so long. You will never get half-assed chapters from me. I'm doing a lot better mentally, and I got past a part that was hard to write for me (ha... you'll see) so the next chapter should be speedy.  
> That said, I hope you like this chapter!! Thank you for so many views and kudos, it's so amazing to get feedback and love on this.

He had to be dead. It was the only explanation for the overwhelming sense of comfort running warm in his blood. The space around him was a thick kind of contentment, like a heavy blanket on a lazy winter morning. Like he had finally found a single place he could stand to call home. All around him was the perfect scent of salty trade winds through trees and oncoming thunderstorms that ignited warmth in his gut, the smell reminding him of leaving port at last.

Suddenly, the thickness broke apart into water sloshing around his head and neck as he broke the surface. He took a deep breath at the realization, and subsequently choked on the water that had filled his lungs.

He abruptly registered the arms cradling him as they tightened at the noise, pulling him closer to the warm chest he was being held against. With it, the scent of warm salt and ozone increased tenfold, carrying the bitter yet sappy smell of concern, and the unmistakable whiskey-like huskiness of alpha. The pleasant warmth in his gut caught fire as the lovely scent flooded his lungs. It morphed into an anxious, urgent burn, drawing a pained moan from his mouth as his body began to shake under the force of it. 

_ “Anna!” _ an insanely low voice yelled from above his head, deep like the bottom of the ocean, somehow both demanding and panicked. The man’s chest reverberated gloriously, buzzing against Dean’s cheek at the low octave and pulling another low moan from him.

The sound of sloshing water got shallower and shallower, slowly but surely relinquishing them to the shore. In its absence, Dean could hear two sets of footsteps trying their best to run towards them in the sand.

“What happened, Castiel?” a new voice- feminine- asked, worried and panting as her footsteps came to a stop.

“Ylluh Eyes,” Dean managed weakly, tongue dry and heavy in his mouth. His head lolled in the direction of the woman, and he attempted to crack his eyes open.

Bad idea. The sunlight pierced his poor eyeballs like hot knives, and his head almost instantaneously began to pound like a war drum, declaring battle upon his brain. He gave a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine, quickly shutting his eyes.

The man holding him- Castiel, the woman had called him- tucked his face into Dean’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, scent thick with floral sympathy. 

Dean should have been weirded out by this stranger, an alpha to boot, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it through the all-encompassing comfort of his scent.

Uncurling from around Dean, Castiel continued, louder, “Anna, you know as well as I do that I can’t be here. Between me and the state of things out there… Please.” 

Even in his hazy state, Dean marvelled at the alpha practically begging. He struggled to focus, to stay tuned in to the conversation. 

“I- I had to mark him, Anna, like  _ property,” _ he went on, sounding anguished and disgusted. “If I stay much longer I… I wouldn’t… I  _ can’t-” _

“You won’t be able to leave, even if you wanted to,” the woman, Anna, finished for him. 

_ “Yes,” _ Castiel ground out.

It took a second for Dean’s waterlogged mind to catch up. Wait. Leave? He wanted to leave?

A high, pathetic whine rose from his throat, unbidden. He had just found him, this wonderful thing that even to his sailor’s soul smelled like home. And he was just going to  _ leave? _

He rolled his head to the direction of the alpha, the movement sending another spike of pain barreling through his battered brain like a runaway javelin. But obstinate, he fought the pain to squint, wishing to the heavens for the sun to just take a damn day off. All he could make out past his enthusiastically watering eyes was tan skin and dark hair gilded gold, the sun a halo behind his head.

“You can’t go,” he protested, voice a ravaged croak. 

He heard Castiel’s breath catch in his throat. For a long, long moment, he didn’t look away, just stared, like he was looking into his godsdamned soul and was entranced by what he saw there.

“Anna,” Castiel begged without turning, deep voice breaking. “I can’t. Not on my own.”

“I know,” she soothed, sounding infinitely sad. “We’ll take care of him, I promise. Gadreel, could you…?” she prompted someone else. 

The second set of footsteps that had arrived with Anna moved forward in the sand, but Dean couldn’t tear his streaming eyes from the admittedly vague form of Castiel. A new set of arms wrapped around him, readying to take his weight, but still he looked at Castiel.

“He will be protected,” Gadreel said, the cadence to his words sounding as if he were swearing a vow. The smell of cliffside heather and sunlight crept over Dean’s senses. Though not terrible by any means, the sense of  _ wrong _ was like getting hammered in the nose, the usually warm and husky scent of alpha like sandpaper.

At the smell, something in Dean broke, some wall, and unleashed something primal within him.  _ “No,”  _ he snarled, blindly grabbing at Castiel. Like fucking  _ hell _ he was going to lose this.

But he lacked the leverage and the strength to hold on against the pull of an alpha, and was pulled out of reach with ease. Fingers slipped over smooth skin, trying desperately to hold on to no avail or response from Castiel.

Then, with an almost audible snap, he lost contact. A deep emptiness tore through his chest, ravaging him down to hollow bones, only for the space to be filled with liquid fire as the flames in his abdomen broke free. 

Castiel growled like something feral when Dean keened at the loss, still groping for him frantically through the blinding sea of sunlight. 

For all of a split second, his face at last came into focus to Dean’s straining eyes. Blue eyes, like the storm-tossed ocean, set in a breathtakingly handsome face and ringed with red as he fought to keep his instincts in check. For that split second, everything in Dean down to his soul strained for Castiel.  _ Mine, _ it said.  _ That’s mine. My true mate. _

Castiel’s face crumpled in utter despair, like he could hear the wretched scream of his true mate’s soul. Then the sunlight flooded the space between them, and something tangible was cleaved in the process. Some part of Dean that slumped in Gadreel’s arms as the world dissolved into light and the scent of sunbaked heather.

He closed his eyes and embraced the dark. Dark, like the bottom of the ocean, dragging him down, down, down.

 

He slipped in and out of reality every so often, but never held on. When he was truly awake again, he was laying down and wet with sweat. He quickly identified the cause of his sudden awakening as Gadreel’s voice, booming with irritation.

“-your place to decide that, Anna!” he exclaimed from the next room over. 

“You want me to let him suffer this alone?” Anna shot back with just as much heat. “Even if he survived this, think about  _ after. _ You know as well as I do you can’t  _ find _ Castiel, not if he doesn’t want to be found. I told you, he’s got this twisted idea of chivalry about this. It would drive the poor kid  _ insane. _ Can you imagine if I disappeared you after the first time we met? What do you want me to  _ do, _ Gadreel?”

A moment of tense silence. “I don’t know, Anna,” he admitted, the bite to his voice gone. “It just doesn’t seem right. That isn’t a kind of thing people can… can take from someone else. But you’re right. I would have thought- I would have thought you didn’t want me.”

“Exactly.” Anna sighed. “I hear what you’re saying, Gad. But it’ll work out. It has to, considering…” Whatever she said next was lost. The uncomfortable, burnt smell of anger having dissipated, Dean slipped back into unconsciousness.

The smell of warm days and heather surrounded him the next time he woke, concern laced throughout it. It made the fire roaring through him heighten by a few degrees, drawing a faint whimper from Dean.

“Are you sure he’s alright? He smells… off,” Gadreel asked from somewhere near his head.

There was the clink of porcelain and metal in the other room. “It’s a biological imperative, trying to draw in sympathetic alphas before it really starts. The baiting time eases up after the first one until they start getting old, don’t worry,” Anna explained distantly. “Can you make this tea when the water boils? I set out the tea bag,” she said as the sound of her footsteps approached.

“Of course,” Gadreel replied seriously, as if he had been tasked with something monumentally important. 

“Thanks sweetheart,” she said, followed by the smack of a kiss. “I gotta find that ol’ amulet and rig it for him. When that tea is done, can you get him to drink it? Settle that fussy alpha of yours,” she teased. Gadreel huffed good naturedly, but didn’t protest the label.

 

Dean must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew, there was a steaming mug of tea being held a few inches from his face.

Dean squinted at the filtered sunlight, eying the mug. “Uh. Cool?” he said uncertainly, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do with the mug in front of his eyes. Glancing upwards, he made eye contact with Gadreel, silently asking for an explanation. The man was undoubtedly handsome in a way that resonated with the warmth in his body. He had short, dark blond hair, a strong jaw and broad shoulders, and downturned steel blue eyes wide with concern.

He glanced around. He was on a couch in what appeared to be a small living room, sheets tucked into the cushions to form a makeshift bed. Open windows looked out towards the sea, sparkling like a dropped bag of diamonds in the setting sun. The floors were covered in a variety of rugs, books were piled on every available surface, and various gems and bits of metal, sea glass, dried herbs, and coins littered the the low table in front of him, as if someone fiddled with them often.

“Drink,” Gadreel urged earnestly, pulling Dean’s attention back. “It’s supposed to help with the pain,” Gadreel urged earnestly, shoving the mug a little closer.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to drink it from your hands, buddy,” he said, levering himself upright into a sitting position and taking the warm mug. He sniffed it distrustfully. It was vaguely brownish in an entirely unenticing kind of way, and smelled like orange, with the odd undertone of dirty socks. 

He shot Gadreel another questioning glance. The giant alpha had a devastating pair of puppy eyes going on now in an attempt to urge him on, reminding him of Sam. The thought gave him the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something. Sam had been waiting for… something, hadn’t he? His memories were coming up hazy.

Dean cautiously took a sip, trying to scrounge up a memory. The liquid tasted almost harshly of orange peel, and the musty undertone translated into an equally unappealing astringent flavor, like acid. He wrinkled his face in mild disgust at the taste.

Sam. Dean had been aboard the  _ Black Legacy, _ thinking of Sam. They had been sailing towards port, he remembered. He had been checking what scars he would have to hide from his worrywart brother when they reached land. Right, he had been on his way back to Lawrence to visit. And then… and then… then he couldn’t remember. 

“So,” he began. “How did I get here? Everything’s kinda… fuzzy.” He knew Gadreel’s name, but he didn’t remember learning it.  
Gadreel nodded, but looked pointedly at the tea. _Drink and I’ll tell you._ Dean rolled his eyes (a gesture that sent shockwaves into his skull, but was entirely worth it) and huffed, exasperated. But he obediently started to sip at the unpleasant concoction under Gadreel’s watchful eye.

After a few sips, the alpha seemed to be satisfied and began to speak. “You have been in and out of consciousness for two days now. My mate and I-”

“Anna, right?” Dean interjected as the name popped to the forefront of his mind.

Gadreel nodded. “Yes. She and I found you on the shore at dawn, by some miracle. We didn’t see your ship. You were just there, as if the Sea God had delivered you himself.” 

He looked at Dean for a long moment. Dean blinked in response. “Okay,” he said, feeling as if he was missing something Gadreel was trying to tell him.

Gadreel’s shoulders slumped by the tiniest increment. “You were… you said, at one point, your ship… your ship had been attacked.” Dean straightened as Gadreel growled out the last part, the air between them charred with alpha anger. “Yellow Eyes,” he ground out, a snarl stifled in his throat.

But it was a faraway thing, because Dean suddenly remembered. The ship with oily sails, chasing them across dark waters. The lightning crack of breaking wood. Dirty yellow eyes, eying him up, looking to take. His father, striding for him like a vengeful god to save him. His father-

John. John was dead.

Dean watched the surface of the murky liquid begin to tremble in time with his shaking hands. John. His father. He had seen Yellow Eyes’ blade embedded in his chest as he had plunged towards the water.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

Warm hands encircled his and gently pulled the mug from his hands, setting it aside. One large hand settled on the back of his neck, pulling his face into the hollow of Gadreel’s throat. Someone was making a godsawful noise, filling the room with the heavy, sad smell of torrential rain and grief.

“Shh,” Gadreel gentled, his other hand rubbing up and down Dean’s arm and smelling of overcast, yet comforting warmth. Right, because Dean was the one wailing and smelling like a funeral. “I know. I know. I’ve lost to him too. Let it out, I know.”

Dean curled into and around him, hiding from the world behind Gadreel’s protective frame. It didn’t seem possible to hurt this  _ completely, _ so absolutely it left no room for doubt. Everything in him, down to his bones and down to his soul strained against the onslaught, straining to leave the body that hurt so horribly. He couldn’t find it in himself to fight back the tide, the enormity of it all crashing over him. He was tired. His dad was dead. His dad was dead and he was so abruptly fucking tired.

He forced the anguished noises from his throat like an exorcised demon, crescendoing as if the catastrophic grief would release him if he could voice the depth of his misery. Thrashing to be free. But each aching gasp only pulled it right back into the punished vessel of his soul. With it, his vision turned gray around the edges at the inhaled agony. 

So he screamed and howled until his soul at last relented, buckling under the siege laid unto it. He was left staring blankly at the floor, forcing himself to stay numb. Occasionally, the grief would catch, forcing him to take a shuddering inhale and choke back tears again. But mostly he stayed numb. 

Something vital in him was leaving, slipping out the back door as the siege wore on. It wandered farther and farther away, until consciousness could no longer reach him.

 

Dean woke, but breathed deeply to avoid waking his eyes just yet. Gadreel and his comforting scent was gone, but Anna’s sweet scent had taken his place. Sighing, he cracked open his eyes and stared at the ceiling a moment, steeling himself to look out at the world.

When he at last turned to Anna, he realized it was his first time seeing her. The last time he had tried- huh. He couldn’t remember.

She was a small, pretty thing, with large brown doe eyes and deep red hair like a glass of wine. She looked every inch the omega her smell revealed her to be, the scent of sugar and lavender almost completely drowned out by the smell of heat.

Dean pushed into a sitting position, fully intending to ask her why the hell she was here when she was in heat. But that plan was quickly but to a stop as pain arced through his abdomen, forcing him to double over. Blood rushed from his head at dizzying speeds, only to pool, strangely, in his gut. More specifically, his dick. He rested his head between his knees as he waited for the dizziness to subside, getting an eyeful of his own hardening dick. Anna’s heat must have triggered his fucking rut. He was finally presenting now, of all times.

Sweat dripped down his face like he had been dunked in a bucket of hot water. Damn, it was fucking  _ hot _ in here. Anna had to be boiling in this fucking weather, body temperature already running high from her heat.

A hand smoothed down his back. “Hey, buddy. Can you hear me?” she asked gently.

Dean nodded, sweat dripping off his nose to land on the sheets below. The fabric was already soaked through, the wet spot a veritable puddle below him. “You should go. In rut,” he groaned out, shuddering as an odd emptiness took up residence in his ass. What the everloving fuck? 

“Can you tell me your name? You were never awake long enough for us to catch it,” Anna asked urgently. As if he was about to snap. But he felt more like he was going to self destruct than jump here. Fuck, it was  _ hot. _ Maybe he was sick as well? It would explain the pain, the weird emptiness, the sweating. For being in rut, he didn’t exactly feel up to the task of fucking someone into the mattress.

“Hey, hey stick with me here,” Anna said, pulling back is straying mind. “Give me your name, buddy.” That hand kept stroking down his back, like she was trying to calm him down.

“Dean,” he managed. “Dean. I think ‘m sick. Don’t feel so good.” He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t focus. He needed- he needed someone to shove him down onto the couch and-

“Dean, you’re not sick. You’re in heat.” 

He stared at her for a moment, lost. Then something clicked into place, and he suddenly had no trouble focusing. “ _ No! _ ” he barked. “No. No, I’m in rut, and you should go, because  _ you’re  _ in heat,” he explained. She was clearly getting screwed up. It was  _ her _ scent blooming with heat, the warm, sweet scent of pie crust that didn’t line up with her scent at all. The scent he couldn’t pick up at all anymore, under the smell of heat.

He couldn’t smell her scent morph with pity, but he could see it on her face. “You’re in heat, Dean. I’m sorry it’s not what you expected, but you will be okay.”

It was too much. It was all too godsdamn much. “Okay?  _ Okay? _ ” he yelled, voice rising with humiliating hysteria instead of alpha rage. “I’m going to be landlocked for  _ life! _ ” Fuck. Oh  _ fuck. _ They were going to lock him in his fucking house and marry him off. Married off and dressed up like a doll, like an object alphas could fuck and breed. 

Fuck, it wasn’t  _ fair.  _ He had given everything to be on that ship. Had torn his family in half, left his kid brother alone, had given everything to follow that dream. That dream of open seas, of  _ freedom. _ And now it was all going to be ripped away. 

John was dead. The  _ Black Legacy  _ was liked wrecked at the bottom of the ocean. Now he was somehow in heat, despite years of being told he would be an alpha. He was an omega, a gender that was as good as a brand. No captain would ever let him on their ship. Bad luck, the legend went. Hell, the  _ Black Legacy  _ had a carving of a doe eyed omega as a figurehead below the bowsprit. So for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how the hell anything was going to be okay. 

“You will go back to the sea, Dean, I swear it,” Anna said fiercely, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts. He glanced back to her face. Her expression was set with steely resolve, forcing him to hold her gaze. “It will be alright, but first you have to get through this.” Her tone left no room for argument, only faith. Faith that she knew what she was doing, that she would guide him through these troubled waters. 

And like the poor lost soul he was, he let her lead the way. He didn’t have much of a choice; if she failed, well. He wouldn’t live a life that didn’t belong to him.

“Okay,” he relented. He sounded like the scared child he felt like. “What do I have to do?” This was just another challenge to overcome. He would make it through this, because Anna had his freedom at the other end of the tunnel.

Anna gave him a smile. “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Don’t worry, Dean. I’m serious. I have it all worked out,” she assured. “In a week, you can get back out there, I promise.” She patted the back of his neck- a spot, he knew, omegas were supposed to respond to. Which was why Gadreel had done it, was why he had felt safe enough to break down hysterically in the arms of a practical stranger.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Anna said, cutting off his thoughts before he could overthink it. “It’s not a curse, Dean. It’s this world that’s the curse.” Then she was gone, leaving him with the overwhelming scent of his own heat.

Fuck, it was still somehow getting  _ hotter. _ Getting out of his clothes seemed like a good place to start, if only to cool down a little bit.

His shirt was all but soaked through when he shucked it off and tossed it to the floor. Gods, even the motions of taking off his shirt had worn him out. Forget fucking someone into the mattress. He needed- fuck, he needed someone to shove him down and fuck this demon of a heat out of him. Ideally into a million pillows that would actually support his poor, wrung-out body.

He eyed the room- and the pillows scattered everywhere. Anna and Gadreel probably wouldn’t appreciate him fucking himself away on them, but at that point he couldn’t muster the will to care. They were washable. No way was he going through his first heat on a couch that barely fit him.

Decision made, he forced himself to get to his feet. It was easier to drop and step out of his pants, though gathering up all the pillows proved to be a chore. Every step made him want to drop back onto the couch and wait for someone to take care of him. But at last, he had them all dumped in a pile in front of the couch. Fuck it, he was going to nest the hell out of this heat. Pulling out the couch cushions, he dropped them onto the floor and surrounded them in pillows.

It took a few minutes of sweaty fiddling to get it just right, but he pushed through until he could finally flop into the center, satisfied. 

Now came the interesting part. He could feel the slick pouring down his thighs, telling him exactly what his body wanted, but Dean paused. 

He wasn’t averse, by any means, to the semantics of being an omega. Even before all of… this, he’d been attracted to omegas and alphas alike. Heat certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d jacked off to the thought of a dick up his ass. 

In the end, he supposed it was the attitude tied (ha) to being an omega that made him leery about the whole thing. While Dean didn’t agree, most of society treated omegas as inferior, or at least as the more delicate subgender. Like glass-spun objects made only for sex and childbearing. Hell, it wasn’t all that uncommon for alphas to just ignore the word ‘no.’

But Anna swore his life would stay normal. And he trusted her, somehow. So he would fuck himself through this with no worries. Or at least minimal worries.

Besides, omegas had fast refractory periods in heat, along with multiple orgasms. Hell  _ yes. _

It was only too bad that he didn’t actually have an alpha to fuck him through this, he mused as he finally trailed a hand between his thighs. Gadreel had been hot as all hell, and smelled nice. Mated, though. No, his type was lean, tan skin, dark hair, maybe blue eyes-

He moaned loudly as his fingers brushed his wet rim, shooting glorious sparks through him. Oh  _ fuck, _ that felt good.

His alpha, he decided, would start with him on his back. Would be gentle and take his time working him over, making sure he loved every second of it.

With his free hand, he took hold of his cock, now weeping at the tip with precome. He gave it a slow stroke, moaning at the hypersensitivity running all through his skin. His alpha would use it to his advantage, fingertips brushing along every sensitive inch of skin. They would discover every sweet spot he had until finally-  _ finally, _ when he was pleading for it, touch him where he needed his alpha most.

He didn’t bother trying to keep quiet as he circled his rim before pushing one finger into his own wet, slick heat. Again, he was struck by how amazing it felt. It took no getting used to it, only immediate perfect pleasure.

A surge of heat in his gut reminded him that he had run out of time to play around about ten fucking minutes ago. Forgoing the fantasy, he instead turned his focus to feeling alone. Slicking up his hand- hey, free lube- he began to pump his red, aching cock at a quick pace. He set to thrusting his finger into his ass like his heat was begging him to, more slick slipping down his finger and down his hand. His hole was wet and open, waiting for his perfect, imaginary alpha. 

One finger quickly became two, then three. The heat was now roaring in his ears with all the blistering heat of a fire, rising as he raced for the finish.

He tilted his hips up, seeking to get his fingers deeper, gut coiling tighter and tighter. The change in angle had the next thrust driving into his prostate, and suddenly the heat broke as he tipped over that invisible edge, painting his heaving stomach in his own come.

Dean laid panting in the nest for a long minute. Holy fuck. That had been the most intense orgasm he’d had in probably… ever. 

But even as he laid there, he could feel that banked fire starting to rise again in his gut. He wasn’t even  _ tired. _

Thought he supposed he had slept for basically three days as his body geared up for his heat. It was going to be a long time before his body exhausted itself.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean groaned to himself.

 

Dean’s prediction had turned out to be right. What he had initially expected to be a three day sexathon was in fact three days of lonely, sex-crazed (and subsequently sex-starved) hell. Four fingers had quickly become never enough, each orgasm ringing empty as his asshole clenched around nothing but his own hand. Sleep had only come in short bursts, never for longer than an hour before his body was raring to go again.

Anna had checked in every few hours or so, but mostly just refilled a bucket of water for him and hid with Gadreel on their boat. 

When his fever finally broke, it was with an ecstatic kind of exhaustion that he fell, at last, into a deep, blissfully uninterrupted sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one ever says how fuckin... hard it is to write porn. No matter how much you read it. So I hope it was good?   
> PS comments make my life and motivate me to no end, and I usually answer. So if you wanna throw me a line if you want to!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me and updates about this fic at gutsngrace.tumblr.com!


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